Rainy Day
by Permanent Rose
Summary: It's a rainy day and only Rose seems to be in a good mood. That is, until everyone criticizes her painting, and then she's in the worst mood of all.


Everyone hates the rain.

Caddy says it's so dreary, Mummy always complains how it makes her shed damp, and Saffy moans about the lack of sun (her favorite thing to do is suntan in the back garden with not so much clothing on.) Even Indigo, who is always very laid-back and adaptable, gets edgy when it rains. He usually hides in his room with his headphones blasting loudly and grumbles if anyone bothers him. Daddy hates the rain because he says it ruins his leather shoes and suede suits.

Even my friends hate the rain. Kiran moans about how it makes her hair frizzy and how it makes the air smell rotten. Molly always sighs and fidgets and mumbles about all the things she can't do because of the weather.

I think I might be the only one who does not hate the rain.

I think it is pretty, especially right before the downpour begins and the clouds gather in thick gray masses overhead. It is very inspiring for paintings. Which my family cannot understand in the least.

"Why so gloomy, Rose?" Caddy asked me once after I had completed an acrylic painting of a cloudy sky raining over a lake.

"It's not gloomy," I protested, glaring at Caddy. "It's beautiful."

She only raised her eyebrows and walked away.

"Where's the sun?" Saffy asked as she breezed through the kitchen in a rush. She was headed to extra Spanish class. Or tutoring the class one children. Or helping Mrs So-and-so decorate the gymnasium for a school disco. I did not know. I cannot keep track of Saffy's schedule.

"There is no sun!" I snapped irritably, trying to lick a drop of paint near my elbow.

She only arched and eyebrow, grabbing an apple from the almost-empty fruit basket. "Don't eat paint, Rose."

I angrily dipped my finger into the blob of Payne's grey paint and shoved it into my mouth.

Saffy hurried out the door, mumbling something like it-is-not-my-fault-if-you-die.

I will not die from eating acrylic paints. They are nontoxic. (Oil paints not so much.)

Mummy came into the kitchen only moments later, groaning about the draft and the leaky roof in her shed. She walked over to the table to look at my painting.

"Did we run out of colors, Rosy Pose?" she asked, taking noticed of the bleak sky.

"No," I grumbled through gritted teeth. "There are plenty of tubes left in the refrigerator. It is supposed to look like that."

"Then it is very nice, darling," Mummy muttered absentmindedly. She began to hunt around the cupboards for tea bags. Once she found the box, she headed out to the shed. She probably already had water boiling on her plug-in burner. (Which Daddy says maybe-you-should-not-do-during-a-storm on account of the shed almost blowing up when Derek from the camp fixed the wiring—but that is another story.)

"Where's my mobile?" Indigo muttered irritably as he entered the kitchen. "Did you take it, Rose?"

"No," I snarled, glowering at him. "I have my own now, remember? I haven't stolen yours in ages."

He only grumbled and began to look on the cluttered counter and on top of the table, which I was using for my art.

"Be easier to find things without all this rubbish," he complained, shoving my picture out of the way, almost causing it to fall off the table.

He disappeared up the steps a moment later, still grumbling.

"I hate everyone one in this bloody family!" I shrieked, angrily grabbing my painting.

I tore the paper angrily in half. And then each half in half again. And then each half of a half in half again. I watched as all the pieces floated to the floor in scattered pile.

And then I began to cry and shout and say words that an eleven-year-old girl should not.

I shouted so much that Daddy even came down from upstairs to see what was amiss.

"What happened, Rose?" He panicked. "Are you hurt?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but only an incomprehensible shriek came out.

"Point to where it hurts, Rose. We'll try to fix it. I'll make it better." Daddy was hyperventilating at this point.

I gulped in a deep breath and dried my tears. I pointed shakily at the torn paper on the floor.

Daddy rolled his eyes back so far that I thought they might get stuck. He bent down to pick up the pieces from the floor.

"Let's see it we can put it back together. Would you find the tape, Rose?"

I hunted around the kitchen for a good ten minutes before I headed to the sitting room to continue my search. I found it under the couch. (Indigo's mobile was there as well.)

"Why was it under there, Rosy Pose?" Daddy said absently as he tried to piece the puzzle of my picture together.

"I haven't any idea," I lied. In truth, I had shoved it under there (along with Indy's mobile, which I only now remembered) when Daddy last had us do a big cleaning spree.

It took another ten minutes to get all the pieces in order and tape them together.

"I'm sorry about the tears, Rose," Daddy apologised, looking at the mended picture.

But I only smiled. I hurried to the refrigerator and began to search for the yellow ochre.

"I wish your mother wouldn't keep the paint in there," Daddy muttered. "I just cleared them out yesterday, and she's already put them back in."

"She loses them if she puts them anywhere else," I explained. "She always remembers the refrigerator—there it is!" I moved the pickle jar out of the way to reveal a tube of yellow ochre.

I carefully squeezed a bit onto the dinner plate I was using as my palate (I was surprised Daddy hadn't scolded me on that yet) and mixed it with a bit of white. With a small brush, I began to paint carefully inside the torn edges.

"Lightening," I smiled maniacally as I looked at my thunderstorm sky.

Daddy only mumbled something unintelligible and headed back upstairs.

My grin only spread wider. So what if everyone else hates rainy days?


End file.
